


Chop Chop

by ShadowedTime



Category: Date A Bullet, Date A Live
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Torture, Brainwashing, Brutality, Character Death, Death, Dismemberment, Embarrassment, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear of Death, Gore, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Nudity, Other, Sadism, Shame, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Threats of Violence, Violence, Yuri, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowedTime/pseuds/ShadowedTime
Summary: Love is a powerful form of manipulation, and the White Queen knows just how to use it to ensure her soldiers stay in line. When love fails, however, nothing beats a bit of violence.





	Chop Chop

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite the messed up oneshot, so I'd stay away from this is you have issues with anything in the tags. Again, this is a large spoiler for Date A Bullet, though not a specifically canon event. Just wanted to practice writing the Queen's dynamic with her soldiers, taken to a bit more of an extreme. Enjoy and thank you for reading!

Rook lay naked, bent over the desk in the White Queen’s office. She was stripped bare, sweat covering her quivering body in a shiny slick. Her breasts squished against the cold wooden tabletop, and her chest rose and fell shakily.

Wide red eyes stared up at her superior, tears of sheer emotion welling within them as the Inverse Spirit stopped beside her. Rook immediately dropped her head down to grovel against the tabletop, rubbing her cheek against it.

“M-My Queen, I-I love you…” She stammered, saliva dribbling from her mouth as she pushed her face against the table, not daring to make eye contact with the female despite how much she yearned for it.

The White Queen let her saccharine smile rest airily on her face as she reached out, running her fingers through Rook’s greasy light hair. Sweat made the strands cling to Rook’s back, and the Quasi Spirit instantly responded to the touches with a heightened, maddened moan.

“Y-yes!” she whimpered as the gloved hand caressed her matted locks. Meanwhile, the White Queen’s other hand slipped down to grasp both of the Rook’s wrists, placing them over the table. There was silence for some time as those fingers ran through and over the soldier’s hair, until her fingers came to rest over Rook’s face.

“Lick it, dear. Show me how much you yearn for me,” the White Queen cooed, her tone lazy. Rook obediently brought her saliva coated tongue out, and proceeded to sloppily stroke it over and between the Queen’s gloved fingers, moaning and whining. The White Queen smiled at that, and straightened the Rook’s outstretched arms, before reaching down to her hip.

Calmly, as Rook continued to blindly lap at her fingers, she spoke.

“I know what you did,” she began, hearing Rook whimper and watching her nuzzle her palm. “Yet I don’t know why you did it… Stealing something from Arsenal is unforgivable, and you know that.”

Rook felt her head tilt up, tongue still lolling out as the moistened glove cupped her chin, encouraging the slave to meet her slaver’s mismatched eyes. It was a stony gaze, aloof.

Rook shivered.

She wanted more of that gaze.

“I know, and that’s why… I wanted you to finally notice me, to see me! It worked, oh, it worked… I get to be here with you… Naked, vulnerable, for you… I’m so happy to be able to lick you, to show you that I’m yours… I’m yours and you are mine, we are together at last…” Rook whimpered lovingly, her lips tilting up into a smile once the dictator’s own grin broadened.

“How cute.” Was all she said, releasing Rook’s face. She unsheathed her sabre, and raised it up high.

“You have admirable drive… I assume you’re aware of what happens to thieves here in Binah?”

Rook nodded eagerly, squirming as the blade rose.

“Yes, yes, I do! Please, My Queen, keep my hands… Keep them on your bedside table, anything, anything so I can be close to you! Even just a small part of me, please…”

The White Queen chuckled at that, her sword’s edge poised over Rook’s unarmoured wrists.

“Of course.”

The sword came down, splitting the table and cleaving through Rook’s wrists in one fell swoop. Rook howled in agony, rearing back as blood spilled from the stumps where her hands used to be. She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth with such intensity that she was sure one or two had cracked beneath the pressure.

Her screams were suddenly muffed as the White Queen firmly grasped Rook’s head, clamping a hand over her mouth. The sword was torn from groove it imbedded itself in, and nudged towards the soldier’s lips. Rook, despite the tears freely flowing from her eyes and mucus from her nose, opened her mouth without hesitation and began to lap at her own blood soaking the blade. Her cries devolved into shaky sobs at tentative moans once the Inverse Spirit returned to stroking her hair.

“Thieves don’t deserve their hands,” she whispered, watching as Rook dutifully licked the blade until its silver sheen could be seen again beneath the crimson slick.

“But, my soldiers need hands to wield their weapons. Do you understand my dilemma?”

Rook responded with a whimper, eyes widening as the blade was delicately pulled away. Blood stained her face now, thoroughly mixed with the tears and drool streaming down her face and forming a puddle over the desk. She swallowed thickly, swallowing the urge to shriek as another surge of pain from her severed wrists overcame her.

“Do as you m-must, My Queen… I don’t deserve to fight for you or hinder you without my hands, I apologise…” She whispered, eyes glistening as she eyed her true love down. She paid no heed as the blade raised again.

The White Queen smiled again, oozing with insanity.

“Thank you for your service, Rook. May the underworld treat you kindly.  
A dull thunk sounded out, and the blade found itself buried right through Rook’s skull. The White Queen let out a displeased sigh, gripping the sabre’s hilt tightly before giving it a violent twist, ripping the wound wider and shattering bone around it. She forcefully yanked her sword out, planting a shoe on the Rook’s chest and kicking her down. The Rook’s body slumped to the floor, blood pooling around her and into the soaked carpet, stained with arousal from the sheer excitement she had felt.

Pathetic.

Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed up the corridor, before two Pawns burst in- likely to investigate the source of the screams. They instead found their Queen, cleaning the last of the blood from her sabre. She glanced up to regard them, before angling her head in the direction of Rook’s body.

“Clean her up, please,” she ordered. Her posture straightened, and she slipped past the two Pawns to proceed down the hall, sheathing her sword.

“She’s soiled my carpet.”


End file.
